2024.04.21: Introduction of Enoch, Victoria and Edward
The evening in the exclusive piano bar is in full swing, exactly enough of the city's glittering elite to make the space seem full but not crowded. The interior is golden age of Hollywood glamorous: all dark woods, gilt trim, and plush burgundy velvet upholstery. The air is heavy with the smell of good tobacco and better liquor, real or imagined it is difficult to tell. All this soft lighting and luxury is merely the setting for the jewel framed in a pool of spotlight next to the electronic player piano accompanying her. The auburn-haired woman is not all that tall, but her presence dominates the stage and the room. She is in the middle of an old Sinatra standby, crooning in a smoky alto that adds a touch of extra smolder to the already sultry song. "... it's undeniably true... I'm irresponsibly mad...for you..." The last words are almost a breathy whisper into the microphone. Then a pause as the last notes die away. Lizzy is at the bar, as usual, serving drinks with a smile, a wink, a nod, and an occasional fancy twirl of the glass along with the music. Her pours are spot-on; not too strong, but not clearly watered-down swill. The shaker usually moves to the beat of whatever the lady of the house is singing at the time. The whole place has a rhythm to it. Doris may be the conductor, but Lizzy is one of the key players. The few waitstaff on duty make rarer desultory rounds to check on their tables, only rarely bringing back empty glasses or new orders. At least the painfully slow drinkers are generous tippers. Mr. Buchanan occupies his accustomed seat nearish the door. All is neatly arranged without seeming so, the little rhythms of the place indeed moving to the direction of the woman on the stage. Her set ends and she excuses herself from the stage to go lean against the corner of the bar. After a few moments of silence, conversation starts up again. "Ma'am." Lizzy says it by way of greeting, sliding over a glass with Doris' usual pretend-to-sip option. Lizzy doesn't know it's a pretend-to-sip option, but dangit, she's efficient. "Miss McCrory." The other woman curls a hand around the glass and lightly moistens her lips. She pours a few more orders that trickle in. Nothing too complicated. Bourbon, neat. Glenlivet on the rocks (which she smiles tightly at but pours nonetheless). A sidecar. She looks around the crowd. "Pretty quiet tonight. Small blessings, hm?" "Quiet nights are often the best for business. They seem happy, yeah?" She gestures at the gathered individuals. Lizzy looks out at the crowd. "For the most part, yes. Any unhappiness they still carry with them is the stuff they forgot to leave at the door." She smiles a little, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Well...I do have pretty strict rules about leaving trouble at the door unless people want a serving of it from me." There are shadings of compassion in her voice. "What are you going to do with that check?" "Oh, so you're letting me cash it?" She chuckles. "I wasn't sure if you were going to or not. You and Mr. Gordon seemed to have a history, and I didn't want to jeopardize that." Because that could close the whole place down. "Marcus Gordon is neither the first nor the last wealthy gentleman with whom I will have a history, as you so delicately phrase it. If he wants to throw money at my best bartender, I will allow him the honor." The emotions in the singer's voice are too complex to parse cleanly, but clearly this is a candyfloss-and-razorwire relationship. Marcus walks into the bar after his impromptu meeting. He gives a smile to Doris before turning to the bartender. He speaks quietly, and visibly relaxes as he comes in. "Ms. McCrory, I've been told you make an excellent Manhattan. I have to try it - but light on the ice, please." "On the subject of men with whom I have history..." There is a soft snort of amusement, muffled by the glass touched to her lips. Lizzy shrugs. "So say we all," she says to Doris, and then Marcus comes in! She smirks a little at his request. "Any particular bourbon you want with that?" He grins at Doris a moment "You'd better be careful, my dear, people might think you like me." Before turning to the bartender "E.H. Taylor, if you have it, or Blanton's. Thank you." "I think you might be the reason we have the E.H. Taylor." With a knowing grin to Doris, she fetches a short glass, gently flipping the glass in the air before setting it on the bar. The light ice was her hint to stir it as opposed to shake it. A few ice cubes clink into the glass, then she adds a couple dashes of bitters. She grabs both the vermouth and the bourbon at the same time, the necks of the bottles in one hand, laced between her fingers. Her pours are timed; a hint that she's done this enough times to know how long to go. She tilts the bottles so that the bourbon pours first, then both, demonstrating at least a passing knowledge of physics. She twirls the long-handled spoon before stirring it, dropping in the cherry and smooshing it against the side of the glass with the back of the spoon. It's not completely smashed; just a little broken and leaking into the drink for a touch of a different sweetness. She then sets it in front of Marcus. A man in a Leather top hat, a long black pinstripe (What can only be described as a "Pimp") coat, black silk shirt, and some ragged looking black jeans walks into the bar. His driving gloves are also black, and he clutches a small box, maybe 7"x4"x2.5" to his stomach. He looks around, both out of place and not, as if it were all just play acting. Marcus watches the bartender's performance with a practiced eye, looking noticeably more impressed as she works. He takes one sip and utters one word. "Masterful." It is criticism, compliment, and professional judgement all in one. "Thank you, Ms. McCrory." She grins and gives him a salute. "That's what I like to hear." Doris detaches herself from the corner of the bar and drifts over to the newcomer, leaving her drink behind. There is, at least, a smudge of lipstick on the glass even if the level of liquor therein has not dropped by any noticeable measure. "You look lost, my friend," she hazards as an opener. There is a subtle waving-off in the direction of the half-masked bouncer. As Doris wanders off, Lizzy looks her way then puts a disposable coaster atop her glass, just in case she has to take her eyes off it. Cuz people are assholes. The man opens the box that he has been clutching onto, and pulls a card from it, holding its back to the woman who spoke to him, the back of the card is blue and silver, adorned with a cross in the center and four angel wings around the outside borders. He looks at the woman, at the card and back at the woman before flipping the card to face her revealing that it is a Tarrot Card, showing.... "The Queen of Cups. Mistress of Emotions and in control of her domain, which I presume this is as my feet have found my way here. Ms. Ashview if I am not mistaken? Raphael sends me, by way of Gabriel at the very least." A head shot up from one of the plush little tables, the matted hair pushed from Cerriphan's face. A squint and a huff, peeling a newspaper off from what was meant to be her pillow. If one could call it sleep, anyway. Her curious looks wandered to Lizzy, and off as she crept. Hiking skirts and wrapping her shawl tightly around herself, eventually she came to a stop close by. "Hello," she leaned in, not quite close enough to penetrate a personal bubble, but dangerously close. At the reference to a familiar, unwelcome name, Marcus's relaxed pose tightens, he moves his drink to his left hand, and his right hand moves discreetly towards his jacket. Doris' entire body language changes as the taller man speaks, a complex, subtle bristling and a wariness that Mr. Buchanan picks up on immediately. There is very quiet conversation, the bouncer taking a few steps away from the situation to do so. "And who, might I inquire, is Gabriel?" Her tone could frost glass. The newcomer looks at her as if she is the insane one. "Gabriel, God's Messenger, Archangel?" The man blinks. "Forgive me, I seem to have made things more complex than they actually are. My name is Enoch Malachai, I tend to end up where I am Fated to be, this city not being the first of such locations. I receive my instructions in... Interesting ways that members of my family may understand but seem... mysterious to outsiders." Lizzy smiles sweetly at Cerriphan. "Hello! What can I get you?" She just thinks Cerriphan is just another customer. Awwww. "Perhaps to giving a hug or greeting for a new friend and face and fellow," the woman held her tone in even, joyful spirits, "your many hours of work and love and care to being watched over here would surely not going unnoticed. What a good face you are, friend. I'm Cerriphan. The Lizzy would be wonderful to get to know." She didn't move any further or back, but now she's smiling. "The angel Gabriel, messenger of the Almighty, says that the angel Raphael, patron of travelers and broker of peace, told you to tell me hello?" There is immense skepticism in Doris' tone. There is also a faint suggestion she might be willing to buy into this scenario, as it is not the strangest thing to have happened to her. She reaches hesitantly for the card held between them. The man quickly pulls the card back "Look. Please do not touch, they don't like it when other people touch them, it messes with the aura.” Lizzy chuckles, though there is a slight unease to it. "Nice to meet you, Cerriphan. I've seen you a couple times here." Her hands fold themselves behind her back almost immediately, where they can do no harm. "I am the woman you are seeking, Enoch Malachai." Cerriphan smiled even more, scooting now just an inch closer. "Doing the same thing, yes, a habit while peeping after the others in the bar. That's okay, nothing to worry about. Is the Dame meeting a new face causing a concern?" The shawl is adjusted just a little, eyes now wandering again as she swiveled to glance at the other conversation. "Ms. Ashview, I am traveling in the company of One, Victoria Marsden, before making an appearance, She has sent me to ask of various... Courtesies, your establishment permits for those of us with... How to say, awkward appearances?" She tips her head to one side and lofts an eyebrow. "So long as people come to this place with peace in their hearts, they will find no quarrel here." A subtle gesture at the bouncer, who is half male model beautiful and half ceramic mask with scars around the edges. Doris then indicates the bundle of shawl and skirts conversing with her bartender and the other occupants of the room, one of whom resembles, roughly, an entire defensive line packed into one human frame. Oddities are par for the course, apparently. Cerriphan looks back at the gestures from Doris. "Hi, Dame!" "Not that I can see. She seems to be handling it okay, but we've had weirdos come in before. This is pretty tame, all told." "Tame for the Dame," Cerriphan chimed with a little smile. "Her natural appearance tends to invoke panic and the worst in people, She hides it most efficiently in polite society, however with this establishment being what it is, use of that ability may be frowned upon." There is a deliberate and measured pause. "I take it from your response that, this is a 'come as you are' establishment, and if anything happens, your office will be the responsible party." "While others might disagree with my adherence to the traditions of hospitality within the walls of my establishment, I am mistress of all I survey." Oblique but pointed affirmation that she is, in fact, the responsible party. "I think you are missing my meaning, Do you mind if i share her picture with you?" He taps his temple "Please. I do not wish misunderstanding to cause strife." There is an intensely ritualistic cadence to her tone, as if every word she is choosing has layers of meaning beyond the dictionary definitions. Cerriphan leaned and scooted, inching closer to the two conversing with a flurry of her skirts. Her gaze was curious, etched evidentially into her expression. Lizzy is watching, and looks very, VERY confused. Upon the introduction, Marcus glances towards Doris, and visibly relaxes. His drink goes back to his right hand. A series of expressions flit across the little singer's face, curiosity, mild startlement, understanding... Her hazel eyes never leave the raggedly elegant gentleman's face, as if she is memorizing it, or perhaps seeing something in the lines and planes invisible to others. Enoch Closes his eyes and smiles a knowing grin. "Please the information is privileged but they say i can trust you" An image appears of victoria not obfuscated, with pitch black skin, clearly an elder Assamite "They being the angels?" "Yes" "Traditionally she Masks her appearance as to not cause undue stress as her clan tends to raise some flags, but this being Elysium, I do not wish to intrude" "All are welcome here. Prince Gordon has as much respect for hospitality as I do. If she is more comfortable making herself up a bit, I will not take offense, nor shall I allow others to be offended on my behalf." "Thank you" "I look forward to meeting her." After a brief moment of concentration he opens them again "Thank you Ms. Ashview. I shall return later this evening with Ms. Marsden" "I shall look forward to your presence. Go in peace." There is a glance at the rest of the occupants of the bar as if to suggest that it is as much benediction on the visitor as it is command to them. Cerriphan peered even further but retreated behind Doris as she spoke words of departure. Marcus glances towards Lizzy, and gestures with his hand that everything is under control. "I think we need a round all around." He glances to the, looking for agreement - hoping that the bartender will slip into her professional persona with customers to serve. Enoch smiles, bows slightly, turns promptly on his heels and departs into the night "Hello, Cerriphan." The bundle of shawl and sweater and skirts is acknowledged. Marcus turns towards Doris, and simply cocks his eyebrow inquisitively. His implied question is obvious. For a long moment, she watched the place where he had been. And then she turned a whirl toward Doris. "Hello, Dame. I think your dear-heart is asking you if you would liking to imbibe." "My what?" Doris looks around the room as if searching for someone she did not expect to be there. She gestured vaguely. "The boy." Marcus raises his glass, hiding his face - a smile, a chuckle, or mild embarrassment - you aren't sure. "...boy?" Another scan of the crowd. "I did not see Steven come in..." Lizzy makes eye contact with Doris and discreetly points out Marcus. Cerriphan continued to stare blankly. "Does the Dame wanting alcohol or no?" "Oh... Oh!" Doris' mouth twists in a wry moue, the closest she can get to blushing without a brush and rouge these days. "I left my drink on the bar..." The normally poised woman flounders slightly. The rest of the patrons, show currently over, go back to their drinks. Marcus glances towards Doris - visibly blushing - and hands her drink to her. The waiters start distributing drinks to the other patrons, courtesy of the generous bloke blushing up a storm at the bar. The Manhattan cannot hide him if it's empty. He gratefully accepts a refill of his drink, and takes a healthy sip. Cerriphan shuffled in an ambling motion back toward Lizzy, leaning in. "Lizzy! I too am wanting to imbibe! What should I having?" "Well, what sort of flavors do you like?" Lizzy asks. "Sweet? Herbal? Smoky?" "I don't know," she practically laid down on the stool, "Tangy?" Doris, who is now having something of An Evening, retreats to her preferred corner of the bar to brood and recover her composure. She keeps her drink with her and mutters darkly to its amber surface in Gaelic. "Hmmmm... citrus is a good place to start. Do you have a base alcohol you like?" The woman licked her lips just slightly, as if she truly had to think about it. Well, she did. What a question that was. "I remember... absinthe, I think, that is being the word for it." "Hmmm... I think I know just the thing." She then reaches for the gin, the orange juice, the absinthe, and the grenadine. The drink itself is mostly gin and juice, with a dash of the absinthe for flavor and a dash of the grenadine for color. There is a soft, eloquent sigh from the Irish end of the bar. Doris slides the glass in front of her back and forth a few times, then lifts it to her lips. Cerriphan appeared delighted at the mere motion of watching her work. "I am having seeing the Echoes of many, many drink making but thinking I could never doing it with mine own hands. You are like a maker of magic." "Try it and see. This is called a Monkey Gland but worry not! No monkeys were harmed in the making of this beverage." "Monkeys are cute," she declared, plucking it up and taking a sniff. The motion was off-colored, finally taking a sip. A hum deep in her throat, testing, watching Lizzy quite literally the entire time. A hawkish gaze. "They are. When they're not flinging poo." Lizzy grins. Cerriphan didn't respond for a brief moment, the long sips becoming little gulps as she adjusted. Was she enjoying it? Who knows. Her expression was almost unreadable, save for the occasional flash of a smile bac at Lizzy. "This is good." "Excellent! Glad you like it. Enjoy!" After a moment, Cerriphan whisked herself away to her table with the newspaper on it-- presumably to finish her drink and happily flounder the rest of the evening away unless bothered. Marcus, having regained his composure somewhat slides towards Doris "I believe that your bartender is even better than mine." "Lizzy McCrory is the best bartender in the city, without question." Doris nods firmly. Cerriphan is now face-first in her newspaper, drink finished. Doris sighs softly, then does a little full-body stretch that does interesting things to the way her fitted dress skims her figure. "I suppose I should get back to work..." She surrenders her glass to Lizzy, the contents still virtually untouched for all the times it has touched her lips. Probably protecting her throat. Of course she is. It only makes sense. Then she glided her way over to the little stage for her next set. No accompaniment, just four sharp taps of her heel before she launches into the song. "I wish I could breathe, I wish I could stand./I wish I had a chance here holding your hand./ Wish I could speak, I wish I could talk/I wish I could breathe...." It suits her lower range and the soft, rougher edges of her voice. Her hands are curled around the microphone, leaning into the stand. Her eyes half close, shutting out the patrons, the staff - everything but the music inside her head. "Since the first day I was alive/I feared we would meet here in the misty outside/I wanted to run, I wanted to hide/I wish I could breathe..." There is genuine, raw feeling in her voice, ripples of it seeping out into the room at large as the almost impossibly exquisite singing fills the space. Whatever is going on inside her skull, the well of emotion she is drawing from is deep and bitter. "I feel a chill deep in my bones,/Nothing can heal the way my blood moans/Nothing can quench my bitter thirst/ I wish I could breathe." Mid Set, Enoch comes back in, still tightly holding onto his card box, he surveys the room and then turns back to the door giving a nod before making his way towards an empty table. A somewhat short woman with glasses and mousy brown hair pulled back in a twist enters the bar. She wears a long black skirt, heeled lace-up boots, and a high-necked ruffled blouse. As she steps into the doorway, she takes a quick glance around the bar. She pauses, a curious expression gracing her features, before nodding approvingly at the singer on stage. One hand curls itself against her chest as Doris continues, "I grasp at my heart that burns in my chest./It's your precious art that makes me so stressed./I run short of blood, light-headed I swoon/I wish I could breathe." There is the faintest of nods to the incoming individuals, but she does not stop singing. She simply continues crooning into the mic, both hands again wrapped around the stand. The hush that has fallen over the room is more than breathless, almost uncannily still except for the odd faint rustle of fabric of faint clink of glassware being moved or out away. "I fear I can't overcome this place/I know your face, your hands/I wish I could breathe..." Enoch finds his seat, sits down, takes off his hat, and unboxes his cards and starts mindlessly shuffling. Occasionally a card will fall out, his brow will furrow as he takes note and presses the rogue back into the middle of the deck. Doris runs through a few more songs, rounding out her set with equally sad, sentimental pieces. Then, with a rather regal inclination of her head, she vacates the stage to its electronic piano background music and glides over to greet the newest arrival and welcome back the man with the box. Victoria joins Enoch, sitting just behind him, closer to the wall. She seems detached. "You must be Ms. Marsden. Welcome back, Mister Malachai." There is the sketch of a curtsey. Handshakes are for modern folk. Victoria nods respectfully at the woman for the courtesies paid and smiles up at her. "You have a lovely voice. It is a pleasure to meet such talent, Miss..." She looks up at the singer expectantly. "Ashview. Thank you...and welcome to the Blue Devil. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? Mister Malachai alluded to fate...or could it be chance that has brought the two of you to CEO Gordon's glittering fairytale city?" She smiles faintly. "It is always so difficult to decide." Enoch Smiles. "That's just it. I never know why I am anywhere until it is made clear. The detailed Why is often harder to get at, Where and How are the easy questions to Answer. I know at least that I and/or We need to be here for some reason, It will most likely become apparent as I interact with more people here, the more Celtic Crosses I see, the more I learn, not just about those around me, but about why I am where I am." "What has been suggested to you so far? May I join you?" The singer's interest does not seem the slightest bit feigned. "Do you require refreshments?" Victoria looks to Enoch and nods. "By all means, Have a seat. I am fine for now, Curiosity and knowledge is my beverage of choice for the night, Victoria tends to like Red wines." Doris stops a passing waiter and murmurs quietly to the individual, who is sent to Lizzy with a request for one of the more complexly-flavored reds from the better end of the cellar. One the bartender will have to leave the room to go hunt down because the really good wines are kept out of danger. He flips the deck over and begins sorting through it until he seven cards and deals them out on the table for Doris to see The cards are The Empress, The High Priestess, The Queen of Cups, The Emperor, the King of Swords, The 9 of Cups and the Six of Wands "I am...not entirely familiar. Can you explain?" Doris is careful to refrain from touching the cards, although she clearly wants to, if only to look more closely at the art for its own sake. Lizzy does, indeed, leave the room to go hunt for that red wine! "The 9 and the 6 represent Myself and Victoria respectively, and have for a very long time with this deck, for reasons that should become apparent the more you get to know us. The other four or five represent powerful people, generally people who hold political positions or sway. The Major Arcana tends to represent an office, while Minor tend to more represent individuals. So you have the Emperor, A political force to be reckoned with, Male aspect of power, Direct, Overt, Controlling." The moment Lizzy leaves, Doris stops devoting attention to breathing and is all Keeper Ashview instead of Lady Nightbird the bar owner. "So that is Prince Gordon." "As I don't yet know the political lay of the land, I would say that is correct. He is also represented by the king of Swords, A martial powerhouse, Air elemental, Tend to be Brujah and, sometimes Gangrel, though Gangrel tend to be more Pentacles. This card in my deck represents a King Solomon style of decision making of wanting to cut a baby in half to determine who the mother actually is, That sound right? More Ventrue by the sound of that..." She nods briefly. "Go on." "The Feminine aspect of power in this city is switching between temporal and spiritual, Subtle more manipulative, possibly by controlling the mortal populace or by outright power of the blood, Hard to weigh in on as it shifts. That appears to be you. Queen of cups, A Mistress who is in charge of emotion and controls it not only in herself but in others effortlessly. An endless dark sea of chaos beneath what appears to be a calm and collected surface, waiting to spill over at any moment." There might have been the briefest quirk of the mouth on Victoria, but you can't be sure you saw it. A momentary wary calculation flits across the Keeper's face, then she is back to fairly neutral observation and attentiveness. "I believe that is what one calls the human condition, yes?" "You could say that if you like, but this is more akin to the card of the moon, which holds house with the clan that bears its name, and the Toreador, among others. Its more than just understanding and commiserating with human emotions, This is Mastery. Which I'm sure now that I've called it out it will either not start showing up, or crash the gates repeatedly. There is no in between." "So here is my question, Why Keeper?" "I just work here." Deadpanned. "Ask my boss." Everyone knows that Keepers answer to nothing but tradition, even if they are appointed. So, whoever this woman is, she has the strength of will to stand up to a man who has built a metropolis in the middle of the vast expanse of the Texas nowhere. That speaks for something. Or perhaps it is simply chance, and she did not step back fast enough. The Seer gathers the cards up with a wry smile and goes back to shuffling. "Of course you do, my dear, Of course you do." "Chance places us in the most unusual situations, but in my experience, it is a great teacher." Doris looks up, checking the room briefly. Counting heads. There is another faint nod to the half-masked man by the door. Possibly some sort of signal. "Experience is the only teacher, Ms Marsden. It is the only way to apply knowledge acquired." "Chance forces us to learn, to be adaptable. Or, more simply put, change or die." "Speaking of not wanting to die... Prince Gordon you said it was? When and where does this gentleman hold court. I really would like to announce our presence in his city as it looks like we will be staying a while and request hospitality." "Something all of us present have learned one way or another." A subtle nod to the overall status of the current patron population. "Gordon is not a tame lion. He comes and goes as he pleases. You are welcome to stay with me until it pleases him to make himself available to the public. You will not be troubled under my roof." "So I can see from..." Enoch starts a sentence and then thinks better of it. Victoria leans forward. "Your hospitality is greatly appreciated." "So you can see from...what, exactly?" The faint edge has returned. Doris is not threatening, not exactly. Just suddenly prickly. "It is honestly nothing, lack of a certain card coming up recently that oft pertains to lions in my deck. Nothing for polite conversation though. But, I tell you what, witness enough readings and I bet you will sooner or later find the answer to that question." "And I'm sure it will remain a joke... between friends." "Ah. I... think I understand. Perhaps." Slow nodding "Anyone else we should know about, or places to stay away from, in the general sense of keeping our noses clean?" "Watch your step in Chinatown, stay on this side of the river. If Uncle Johnny contacts you, I suggest you meet him. Caius Marcellus Gordon is...an interesting individual. Mister Malachai, I believe making contact with Doctor Pendleton is in your best interests. Other individuals of note are Ben Jamin and Sister Rosa Hernandez. Sister Rosa does not get out much, nor does the good Doctor." Doris indicates a rather laid-back seeming gentleman with a halo of blond curls towards the stage when she mentions Ben. Then she indicates the passed-out bundle of shawl closer to them."Also Miss Cerriphan. Ms. Marsden, if you have any needs or concerns, I would be honored to take them to His Most Influential Majesty on your behalf. Try not to speak to Kenna Baird if it can be helped." Doris rather swiftly runs through titles. The sound of Lizzy's heels can be heard from the stairs up from the cellar... "Your offer is most kindly received. We will speak on this further, later." A swift nod. "I believe your wine has arrived." "Indeed. Thank you." Lizzy approaches the table herself with the bottle and a glass. She displays the bottle appropriately, uncorks, and pours enough for a taste. Victoria takes the proffered glass and sniffs delicately. She raises an eyebrow, takes a small sip, and then smiles. "Surely this is not the house red. I am... impressed." "This is a house of many rooms." "So I see." Enoch will continue to Shuffle picking up the occasional card and noting it while Victoria Finishes her drink. "Thank you for your time and information Ms. Ashview, If we may be of service at any point in the future, please ask." Once the wine meets with proper approval, Lizzy pours a full glass, then makes herself scarce once more. Victoria quietly sips her wine, savoring the surprisingly good vintage. When finished, she nods to Miss Ashview and makes her way out. The blank, stoic expression on the Keeper's face suggests that nobody is to bother the woman wherever she finds herself or there will be worse than hell to pay. It is not entirely approved across the board, but nobody follows her. For now, peace reigns. "...let us hope the healer indeed sent well-wishes, Mister Malachai..." she murmurs under her breath. ~So this is the place...~ Thinks a man at a corner just ahead of the Blue Devil as he looks at a gmail letter mentioning the location. Sliding his device in a pocket he looked ahead, taking a good glance of the building before stepping towards it. He could have gone in my himself, he had the means to do so but how impolite would that be. There was a lot of opportunity to be claimed within this City, so he was told, very recommended. Time will tell if his information is proven right. Stationing himself at the door, thrice he knocked before he moved his arms behind his back to wait. Without a moment of hesitation, the door flew open. The woman standing at the door was, for lack of a better term, intimidating. She was wearing a suit and had an earpiece. She smiled politely and looked the gentleman up and down before offering him in without a word. She was easily 6'8" or taller, but her form radiated a quiet muscle that the suit could barely contain. The woman points to the bar. If there was any shred of fear inside the man standing before Her he did not show it. Looking up she was several inches ahead of him as he rose his chin to be able to make eye contact with what he assumes to be quite the efficient door lady. He flashed a smile and a polite nod. Thank you. Moving by her the smells and the music quickly caught up to him, the desire for a Cuban came to mind but now was not the time for that. As he walked straight to the pointed location his eyes scanned around expertly, wanting to take in the details and the layout of the place. A nice place for sure, worth of it's owner without a doubt. Once at the bar he took a seat. The woman seemly faded from view, and another figure appeared from behind the bar. "Heya, Kiddo. What'll you have?" he asks. This new gentleman seemed almost young, but his voice had a harshness of age. Bright green eyes and a large smirk betrayed amusement. "Drinks are on the Owner tonight, Boss' orders." he promises, rapping his knuckles upon the table. He glances past the man to the near Amazon. "She's not a talkative sort, but she's a great doorman. He oughta pay you more, lovely!" he cries to her. She offers a polite smile and a charming wink, before settling against the back wall. Doris looks up from her conversation with the gentleman with the box, startled. Once she parses out the situation, however, she relaxes slightly and resumes keeping watch over the room. Hostess making sure her guests are being managed. As the new gentleman sits at the bar, the man shuffling cards cuts the deck, and looks at the card revealed and back at the newcomer. He slides the card out for Doris to look at before shuffling it back into the deck After some time, the small gremlin at the table jerked upright again from her newspaper. Cerriphan gave a heavy glance about to new faces, familiar and unfamiliar. "More cards... Endless cards." Doris raises an eyebrow inquiringly. She does not understand the implications, but her continued interest in learning how the system works is evident. The man murmurs so his words will be lost in the cacophony of the crowd’s conversations, to everyone except those sitting closest. There is a slight nod of understanding and the new arrival is appraised a second time. Doris lets the "bartender" continue managing the situation, however. Most Generous of the Owner, he has my thanks. I'll have a Bloody Ceasar if you please," he says as he takes a glance at the man who talks older than he looks. A retainer surely, smart. ''She does her job, like you do yours. I am sure the two of you excel at what you do. The man with the box starts to deal out cards onto the table as he continues to seemingly talk to himself, after the first card is dealt, there is a certain light in his eye like he is on the inside of a joke that only he knows. The auburn-haired woman at the table with him watches intently, head tipped to one side. She seems more a raven than a songbird at the moment, or perhaps a particularly small raptor. Her attention is both on the pretty cardstock rectangles and on the face of the man laying them out. After a moment's quiet conversation, she frowns and tips her head the other way. Her expression is quizzical rather than angry, however. Or rather...more quizzical than anything else. She gestures over the spread of cards, indicating that all of the mess continues to make no clear sense. and encouraging Enoch to continue explaining them...or himself. Or both? The man's focus becomes intent and he starts pointing to the cards he dealt out and his mouth is trying to keep up with his brain, he remains quite in his conversations though, obviously having done this and understanding discretion of clientel. Doris follows along as best she can keep up with the moon-touched diviner's torrent of words. She is careful not to touch anything, although there is a clear indication she wishes to. Then, when there is a pause in the monologue, she makes an observation and poses a question. The man sighs, makes a brief statement, rolls his eyes and then starts into it again. There is a guilty little shrug of her shoulders, as if in apology, followed by nodding and more quiet conversation. In the emptiness between conversation enters a man who has a poor humor for crowds and general antipathy for "people" as a mass noun. As he sits at the far end of the bar and takes up as much spiritual space as possible, it’s clear in his body language if not in attitude or expression. He's scruffy in the way handsome ruffians generally are, with his dark beard kept short, and dark hair with shocks of gray kept free and just messy enough. Presently he's wearing a leather jacket over a bright v-neck and a pair of jeans. The sound of the door pulls Doris' attention away from Enoch briefly. She only just acknowledged the artfully disheveled gentleman, but she does acknowledge his presence. Just enough to force him to admit someone cares about his presence, but not enough to coerce him over to her table. He's (unfortunately) perceptive enough to sense the unspoken invitation, which obviously irritates him, because it does force him to admit as much, mission accomplished. He orders his drink (scotch) with a short growl and narrowed eyes because he knows this game, Ms. Doris, and while it may not be an outright coercive invintation, he's quite aware ignoring it would make him out to be an even greater caricature of intransigence. So fine. He nabs his drink (quietly leaving a nice tip), and cooly marches his way over to the proprietress and her company. "Hi," he says to Enoch and anyone else assembled, gruffly. "What?" he says pointedly at Doris. "Just a friendly greeting." Doris is the picture of innocence and civility. She indicates the man with the cards. "May I present Mister Enoch Malachai?" As the gentleman approaches, Enoch Scooped up the cards and shuffled them back into his deck. When introduced he sets the deck down and offers a gloved hand to shake. "My pleasure, Sir" Victoria steps quietly through the door. (For those not previously introduced, a somewhat short woman with mousy brown hair pulled back in a French twist, wearing a long black skirt, laced heeled boots, and a ruffled blouse.) She spots Enoch shuffling his deck and, noticing that he is with someone, walks over calmly but keeps her distance. Balcésar eyes Doris with a look that could freeze vodka, then eyes the presented hand, then Enoch himself, who really does not deserve the Toreador's sour attitude, so he reaches out and grips said hand firmly, shaking it precisely once. "Likewise," he grunts, momentarily soothing his surliness with a sip and the burn of good booze. "Balcésar Cruz." There's an audible Spanish lilt to his accent. "Pleasure to meet you Mr. Cruz." Enoch looks over to Victoria. "My Dear, you have no reason to wait in the wings, please be seated. Ms. Ashview was discussing possible future business endeavors, and she may be able to assist with finding you lab space." Victoria smiles. "You may now have my attention." Enoch Cuts the deck and looks at the card, smiles and then sets it down again. "Mr. Cruz, Myself and Victoria are new in town. We tend to look into trouble when it happens. I often see it coming first, but she has ways of testing things and proving them after the fact. If you have need of our services, Ms. Ashview has been nice enough to let me set up shop here for the time being." "I will need to talk to Mister Gordon, Ms. Marsden, but I do have one tiny string to pull. I think a research laboratory might be an excellent addition to the city." The ghost of a smile. "Noted," says Balcésar, who nods in curt affirmation. A few short, smooth moments has his wallet procured, and a simple business card that reads his name and 'Corazón Valiente Investigations' in simple lettering is flicked with no small skill before Enoch. "I'm in a similar line of work." Enoch smiles and nods, picking up the card, rotating it once before tucking it into the pocket of his coat. "I have a feeling we approach a similar problem two different ways. If you ever need something refracted from a different angle, please let me know." Another nod from the grumpy man, paired with a sincere, "I will." "I seem to be collecting Biblical references. Enoch. Malachai. Balthazar." Doris seems amused. Balcésar is clinically unamused. "Balthazar was my father." He sips his drink, and unless he's arrested by conversation, will return to the bar. There is a slight tut of surprise, but no overt verbal comment. As Mr. Cruz walks to the Bar, Enoch flips over the half of the deck that he cut into revealing a card to Doris before stacking up the deck and Shuffling it again There is an audible snort of suppressed laughter. This one she sort-of understands from context clues gleaned before. Doris watches the vague Spaniard sulk back to the bar, one gloved hand over her mouth to stifle further noise. It's unlikely Balcésar didn't hear her, but he's doing his best to her ignore her, and probably all for the better! He sips, quietly. Alone. Marcus returns to the bar later that evening. He is dressed "down" for a Ventrue - still well put together, but his customary suit has been dressed down. Tailored jeans, black sneakers, and a tweed sportscoat over a matching button down give the appearance that he has been "at work" and not as himself. He scans the bar quickly, observing the card shark in the corner, before walking up to the bar, ordering two fingers of a Laphroaig special release - "Neat, please." before sitting down quietly next to Balcesar. "Mr. Cruz, I apologize for intruding on your apparent desire to drink alone, however I have some business to discuss, if you've a few minutes." Mercifully for Marcus, the investigator is in better humor after a space alone with his thoughts and booze. He does not push the other man off his stool to keep his space. "Shoot," he says, glancing at the other man briefly and nodding once. Marcus takes a sip of his drink and smiles as the brine and smoke of the whisky coats his palate. His tone is direct, "Mr. Cruz, let me be direct. I need - on behalf of Gordon Industries - to find someone who can differentiate between a ghoul and kine on sight. When I was briefed on the job in question, your name came up as someone who may have the skillset I need." Balcésar appreciates directness. This saves Marcus from his usual sarcasm, and he instead sips from his drink thoughtfully. "Your information is correct," he says. "Then I've approached the right person." He continues. "I've been informed that there is a small coterie of Sabbat - probably neonates - infiltrating the Riverwalk district. They've been mostly working behind the scenes - but are believed to have been turning ghouls. I've been asked to take the lead in solving the problem. I believe you can help." He chuckles and takes another sip from his glass. "You will be paid, of course. We are not communists, after all." "Damn reds." Whether or not he's actually anti-communist is up for Marcus to interpret, but the metaphorical sound of coin certainly doesn't hurt his reception of the offer. He languishes in another thoughtful sip before replying, "I'll help you find them, but I'm not an attack dog. I'm sure you've got other 'assets' for that." Marcus smiles at this, "Mr. Cruz, neither of us are attack dogs - but that's what subcontractors are for." A pause "In that case, I have yet to establish a permanent base of operations in this town, perhaps we could meet at your offices to go over the plan tomorrow evening? I have one small errand to complete to lay the groundwork." "Fair enough." It's a rare capitulation from the crabby Toreador; this is not his business face. "Sure; I'll be by after I'm done with another client." He lifts his glass for a toast-agreement, as a contract is a contract. The young Ventrue raises his glass in agreement and smiles. "Then we have an arrangement, Mr. Cruz. Please let me know when you're finished with your other client, and I'll come by. This is a matter of some urgency as well. And as it seems you prefer to drink in silence, I will leave you to your drink." He salutes the Toreador once more "Until tomorrow, Mr. Cruz." Balcésar silently lifts his glass in acknowledgement and farewell. The figure laughs, and gestures in the distance. It's clear he expects someone else to actually go through the trouble of pouring the man a drink. His action, instead, is to toss a twenty-dollar bill into the tip jar. The man points back, towards the two talking figures nearby. A detective and a Corprate suit, if things are to be believed. "These two will be good. Get me something I don't know about either of them, and you'll go far." his eyes deadset upon Sainz. "Post them. You know where. You know how. You know why." and the friendly request swiftly softly into a command. There was a wink... And the being simply faded from view. His very form dematerialized, leaving an idle chuckle to the wind as the bar door flew open seemingly of its own power near moments later. The Amazonian, to her credit, was instead watching the exchange of Antoninus and Cruz. Her arms were tight behind her back, but her approval was apparent. People working towards Camarilla business was always good. Doris snorts again and rolls her eyes. There is a soft, dark mutter in Irish Gaelic in which the name "John Crowley" features. The inflection implies tolerant exasperation, but exasperation nonetheless. The woman who had been silently observing the whole time began to make a noise akin to a feline prepared to hurl a hairball... but then she stood, politely excusing herself to the nearest facilities with a somewhat surprise expression. An expression of vague alarm flits across the bar owner's face. No matter how old a Kindred might get, that distinctive hurkt-hurkt-hurkt of impending doom is never forgotten. Doris murmurs her excuses to Enoch and slips off to the washroom after the bundle of fabric. She returns a few moments later, whatever crisis might have been brewing averted. Marcus steps back from the bar, his glass in hand, and begins to walk towards the piano before noticing Enoch and his deck of cards. Curiosity piqued, he turns to Enoch, mistaking the deck for playing cards. "Fancy a game?" "I do know of a game you could use this deck for, less 22 cards of course, however the stakes tend to be too high, and it is always the looser who ends up truly winning the game. Its called Assumption. I actually know one or two individuals who would find the game fascinating to observe." "Learned of it while in Vegas. Coincidentally, never gamble with cards while on a boat." "I am surprised you do not know the rules for Triumph..." A sly smile. Doris also shifts to make space for both Victoria and Marcus, should the lady finally decide to sit. Marcus cocks an eyebrow inquisitively as he sits down at the table. "High stakes, and the loser actually wins. I've never played before, but I'm intrigued." He sips thoughtfully, before returning Doris' sly grin "Well, you'll just have to teach me one of these days, won't you?" "I am told that it is possible to acquire or 'assume' someone else’s soul or identity if you lose the final bet. The winner walks away with your money, but down the line when the looser is in need they can push the soul out of the winner’s body, or consume it, hard to say, and assume the winners identity." "Perhaps not the sort of stakes for a friendly game..." Doris’ voice has the faintest of warning tones to it. "The individuals playing are often tricked into it and don’t know what they are truly gambling away." "Gambling for money is one thing - risking one's soul... are not stakes I would choose." "Though I had thought you were carrying a regular deck of cards, but I seem to have been in error." Enoch smiles "Certain families have souls to spare. I tend not to cross them." He reaches into the inner breast pocket of his coat and produces a normal deck of cards. "I am a terrible gambler as i tend to bet on symbols rather than probabilities." Marcus smiles "I would hate to take a stranger's money needlessly in a new city. Marcus Antoninus, by the way, I don't believe we've been introduced." And he extends his hand towards the stranger across the table. The gentleman sets down his cards an extends a gloved hand to shake. "Enoch Malachai, Oracle." Marcus glances towards Doris questioningly before turning back towards Enoch. "It's good to meet you, Enoch. By Oracle, I presume you don't mean the software company." "I honestly didn't know there was one. But no, in the older, more traditional sense of the word." "The other Oracle is more in line with my line of work." He grins. "To each their own, our community needs more individuals who understand that sort of thing. I saw you speaking with Mr. Cruz. While we approach things differently, he, myself and Ms. Marsden," Enoch nods to the woman standing next to the table analyzing the bar. "Tend to be in the same line of work. You'll have to forgive Ms. Marsden, new surroundings, despite being safe, set her on edge." "Strangely, I find myself in a similar line of work as Mr. Cruz more often than not. Though we go about our business rather differently, I think." Marcus gives a smile to the thus-far silent woman. "Ms. Marsden, it's nice to meet you as well." "But Mr. Malachai, if you're in the same line of work as Mr. Cruz, perhaps you would be able to offer some advice of your own." "If it is within my purview, I would be happy to be of assistance" After the brief stint, Cerriphan returned a little more collected, and with more 'life' in her eyes. She immediately started to slink in the direction of those conversing, curiosity renewed and rekindled now that there wasn't alcohol sitting in her stomach. Though she did not greet them, she did lurk very close by to peer at their faces. The man at the bar was amused, kind of, at the fact that he has yet to have been noticed with all of the people around and the drama taking place. The worse didn't come to be, good thing, but regardless inwardly it felt good despite his good looks to see that he was not gaining attraction. For now, at least. Turning himself to face the open area he scanned around, looking at where the people are taking notes, mentally of course, of all of them but especially two. Nodding to himself from time to time he leans his back against the bar semi-casually as he takes a glance of the work and begins to get to work already. "Cerriphan, Mister Malachai is a kinsman of yours." Doris helps the conversation along. Balcésar appears to have silently slipped out of the bar. Producing a seemingly expensive cellular device, the man at the bar types in a few things before pocketing back the device Marcus observes the cellular device held by the man at the bar but does not acknowledge him. Instead, he faces the Oracle and quietly asks "What can you tell me of that gentleman? Be discreet." Cerriphan tilted her head at the nudge from Doris, looking toward Marcus, then toward the man at the bar a little more obviously. She shuffled down and wrapped her arms around herself into a shawl burrito. Now she was furrowing her brows at the both of them. "...is everything all right? You are not still feeling unwell?" References of the previous incident, but delicately. Enoch with all the professional discreteness that comes with dealing in people’s fortunes lets the crowd drown out his soft voice, as he picks up the Tarot deck and starts to shuffle while he murmurs. The crackling purr and soft rustle of the pasteboard rectangles has Doris' full attention. The entire concept of fortune telling is some sort of interesting puzzle to solve as far as she is concerned. Her attention is mainly on Enoch's hands and the way he manipulates the cards. Cerriphan had neglected to reply to the Dame's inquiries, instead looking to the shuffling Oracle and his many cards-- and Marcus, dear Marcus. The shawl burrito was starting to burrow deeper within her many layers and attempt to lean in to watch. Victoria glances up from her book at the sound of shuffling cards. Marcus nods quietly at the near-silent words of the Oracle. From the employees-only section of the bar, Lizzy shuffles on out, heading for the bar. Apparently, the relief is here. She's in a black wiggle dress accessorized with a wide red belt and a wide red headband. She teasingly shoos off the current bartender, as his shift is likely concluded at this point. Slowly turning from his seemingly comfortable position with his back against the bar the man took a look at the shift replacement and smiled casually her way. Hello there. He says as he goes to take a sip out of his now half empty bloody ceasar Lizzy smiles at Edward with warm, yet professional courtesy. "Planning on having another?" Only if you make it better than the one you're replacing. Shall you accept this challenge? He said being a bit coy but nothing exaggerated. He meant it to be funny, not insulting to the guy she took over from. Lizzy's grin widens. Challenge accepted. "What are you drinking?" A bloody Caesar She raises her eyebrows. "...Canadian?" she asks, fetching the various items she would need. For the native Texans in the house, it looks like she's about to make him a michelada. She even busts out the Tajin to rim the glass, which, while by no means Canadian, does add a kick to the drink. She uses the juice of the lime wedge to moisten the rim of the glass to help the Tajin stick to it. In fact, to those familiar with the michelada but not the Bloody Caesar, it looks like that's what she's making, but in a shorter glass, with less lime juice, and using vodka instead of beer. Just like that. He says as he pays attention to the way she pours the drink. Nothing wrong with variations, I enjoy the difference in taste. But in the end, it's about the quantities. Done wrong it can do much sour. Lizzy grins. "Yup. If you're looking for something a little lighter next time, especially once summer hits, ask for a michelada. Pretty much the same flavor profile, and since we're so close to Mexico, it's really easy to find people to tell you how to do it right." She winks. I'll keep that in mind miss...? "Lizzy." She's good enough to wait until he's a sip or two away from the end of his drink before mixing him a fresh one. Edward. He replied to her As in Elizabeth? He asked further as he slowly pushed the now empty glass her way. "The only person who calls me Elizabeth is my mother when I've committed some grave sin, like adding more seasoning to potato salad than salt." She takes the emptied glass away and sets her attention to making his drink. Most of the measuring is done by eye, and only once does she reach for the same bottle twice to adjust for proportions... and that's the Worcestershire. But seasoning is the life of the party for a salad. Salt ads something yes but seasoning... He says as it's obvious if she pays attention what he is measuring along with her. Seems like this guy knows his drinks, or he is good at pretending he does. You can go thrice on that. Lizzy raises an eyebrow, then shakes her head. "Your drink." She then adds triple the Worcestershire and hands him his drink. Indeed, it is Lizzy, thank you. He smiled to her before taking the glass in a gloved hand and looked at it a quick second before downing a portion of it slowly. Hmmm... Lizzy smiles as it appears he's happy with his drink and starts putting things away. Meanwhile, over at the table... Doris looks up from the cards for a moment to check on the overall contentment levels in her establishment. You like it here? Working, the place, the city? He casually asks as if to do small talk. "I do like working here. The boss takes good care of her people, the hours are reasonable, and the pay is good enough that I don't need a second job. Can't say that for other places around here. The city... has its good and bad spots, like every other city." Oh? I intend to settle in here for the coming future. Care to enlighten me on where I shouldn't and should go? "The Wastes, for sure. Really rough part of town." She also rattles off the rough area of the Lion's Tail, since Lizzy's player is uncertain if that neighborhood name is also mundane. Doris gets up from the table she has been at and wanders over. "The industrial district is a mess for sure. Mostly south of the river is rough territory. I am always amused at the fact Gordon Industries built a river for no discernable reason. It seems so...frivolous." Is that so? He says suddenly intrigued by the new entrant in this conversation but more on the bit of history mentioned in it. He gave a nod of thank to Lizzy not wanting to ignore her. I aim at something more within the downtown area or near it. Easy of access in fact. "If you are looking for work or retail space in the core of the city, you will need to talk to Mister Gordon, the CEO of our biggest employer." A dry smirk. "Gordon Industries owns most of the land around here." I'm looking to run my own thing. A Club in fact. "Most of those are in North Albion or here, around the theater district." She waves a hand vaguely to indicate everywhere outside the club. I would not want to cause competition to this here establishment, but if around these parts is the proper location I will find ways to not be in the way He smiled as he extended a hand to her. Sainz, Edward Sainz. A pleasure to meet you both. "Doris Ashview, HR director for Gordon Industries among my other many and varied tasks." Doris offers a gloved hand at the height where he can choose to air-kiss over it or shake it. Air-kiss was the gentlemen option he opted for, his eyes locked up hers as he did it. Now I know who to ask for career opportunities then. He smiles "I am but one of several...and I think you met one of the others as well." She does not blink or look away, rather like a cat who has decided something needs to be assessed for threat potential. Fascinating. He says slowly as he pays attention to her ways and behaviors. I have not formally introduced myself though, this will not be long lasting however. "There is...well, he calls it an employee meeting, this Sunday." She grabs a pen and a cocktail napkin and scribbles down a date and time (04.16.18 9p Eastern, 8p Central), then pushes the napkin to the gentleman. I will make it. It would be rude to miss it. It will be good to meet the locals and get my name around. Thank you. "We shall see you then." Indeed we will miss Ashview, indeed we will. Marcus looks at his watch, and swiftly finishes his drink, excusing himself for a meeting. Category:Logs